


Coin-Operated Boy

by umbralillium



Series: Tumblr Fic [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex, Rimming, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbralillium/pseuds/umbralillium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets a gift card for a gay phone sex line. Guess who's on the other end of the phone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coin-Operated Boy

Stiles almost forgets he has the card. He'd laughed when he opened the card from Erica on his 18th birthday, grinning at everyone's ribbing as he'd stuffed the card back in the envelope and then packed it with half his room for the move to college. It's not until midterms, when he's searching for another highlighter that he finds the card and remembers.

Why not? He thinks, tapping the number on the card into his phone. His roommate's at the library, cramming for his art history exam in the morning, so he has the room to himself for the night. The phone rings a few times and he goes back to rooting around for that highlighter.

"Hello," a soft voice answers and Stiles almost drops the phone in surprise.

"Hi," he answers back, voice cracking.

A soft laugh purrs over the line. "First time?"

"...Maybe," Stiles prevaricates.

"It's okay, everyone has a first time," they assure him. "What's your name?"  
  
"St-eve," Stiles answers, rolling his eyes at the obvious lie.

"I'm Derek," the man replies smoothly. "Tell me a little about yourself?"

"Um, what do you want to know?" Stiles asks warily.

"You sound kinda young. Are you a student?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What's your major?" Derek questions.

"Criminal justice," Stiles answers promptly, relaxing back in his chair.

"Mmmmm, handcuffs, nice," Derek says quietly.

Stiles laughs a little. "Not for a few more years, but eventually."

"Bet you already have ideas for what to do with those cuffs," Derek purrs.

"Maybe a few," Stiles admits.

"Only a few?" Derek teases.

"Why don't you tell me what _you'd_ do with a set of cuffs?" Stiles challenges, smirking to himself.

Derek moans softly. "One question first.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think about them being used on you or using them on someone else?”

Stiles can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes. “Ahhh, kinda both?”

“Versatile, very nice,” Derek murmurs. “Bet you’re really good at… pleasing your partner.”

A self-conscious laugh slips from Stiles. “Yeah, but I would be,” he mutters.

Derek flat-out groans. “Fuck, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“It’s not like I planned on being an 18-year-old virgin,” Stiles shoots back a little peevishly.

“That was not an annoyed groan,” Derek placates him. “Virgins are blank slates, no expectations, not so jaded. It’s nice.”

Stiles hums skeptically. “So tell me, Derek, what would you do with my virgin ass if you had me in handcuffs?”

“God, so many things,” Derek replies. “I’d find all the spots that pull the best reactions out of you, the ones that make you gasp and writhe and bite your lip and moan like you’re going to die because it feels so fucking _good._ ”

“Fuck,” Stiles groans, pressing his hand against his cock through his jeans.

“You’re so hard for me. God, there’s a puddle of precome on your belly and I can’t not lick it up,” Derek moans. “You taste so good, I follow the taste to the head of your cock and suck you into my mouth.”

Stiles whimpers, gives up any attempt at dignity, and tugs his pants open, sighing at the release of pressure against his cock.

“Yeah, you like that, huh? My hot, wet mouth around your cock, sucking you down, until I’m almost choking on it.”

“That doesn’t sound very comfortable,” Stiles observes.

“Maybe, but it feels so fucking good for both of us. Love the feel of my mouth stretched around your cock, the head nudging into my throat,” Derek purrs. “I’d let you fuck my mouth, if your hands were free.”

“Jesus.” Stiles fumbles to stave off his orgasm. So fucking unfair that this guy is so talented at dirty talk that he can almost make Stiles come untouched. “What next?” he rasps.

“I’d lube my fingers up and stretch you open until you’re _wrecked_ , until you’re begging for my cock to spread you wide, to fuck you so hard you pass out,” Derek answers, voice dropping to a growl. “I’m almost tempted to just work your prostate until you come without being touched, but I can’t wait to feel you spread wide around my cock. I want to see your legs spread wide and willing for me.”

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles curses, thumbing the head of his cock, wishing he’d brought even one of his dildos with him, but there was _no way_ he was going to risk some stranger finding it.

“Want that?” Derek asks, sounding just a little bit breathless.

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles answers, but there’s something… “What do you look like?”

“Tall, broad, dark,” Derek answers shortly. “You?”

“Bet you’re handsome, too,” Stiles quips before answering, “Tall, skinny, pale, too many freckles and moles.”

“Mmm, love freckles and moles,” Derek rebuts. “Wanna trace them with my tongue, leave my mark underneath.”

“Don’t need a mole to mark me,” Stiles replies, hips rocking up into his hand. He’s so close, almost there…

“I’d mark your throat,” Derek growls. “Leave one just high enough on your neck that a t-shirt or scarf wouldn’t cover it; let everyone know that you’re mine. Maybe make a collar of them to match the bruises on your wrists from my cuffs.”

“Christ.” Stiles bites down on his lower lip to keep Derek’s name from slipping out as he comes harder than he ever has before, imagining being pressed into a bed by a warm, heavy body above him and the stinging pain of teeth against his skin. The noises he’s making are embarrassing enough without letting that slip.

He collapses back in his chair, panting. There’s silence for a long moment before Derek asks, a tad breathlessly, Stiles notes, “You still with me, Steve?”

“Stiles,” he corrects then bites back a groan at his lack of brain-to-mouth filter after a mind-blowing orgasm.

“What?”

“My name is Stiles. Figure the guy that gave me the best orgasm of my life deserves to know that,” he says with a soft laugh.

Derek’s answering laugh is low and warm. “I’m glad I could give you that.”

Stiles coughs, a little uncertain how to go about ending the call. “Well, I gotta, um, go study for midterms. Thanks for the stress relief.”

“You’re welcome, good luck,” Derek replies.

“Thanks,” Stiles says and hangs up.

*

Derek slips his headset off and glances around as discretely as possible before reaching down and adjusting himself. There was something about that guy that just got to him. Usually, he could almost switch off his brain and just play pinball or Words with Friends with Danny. But with Stiles…jesus. It’s like Derek’s brain had become hyper-focused almost from the beginning.

Suddenly incredibly grateful he wasn’t the type to blush; Derek slipped from his booth and walked down to Erica’s desk. “I’m taking my break,” he tells her.

She leans back in her chair and grins up at him. “Got a little problem there, Derek?”

He doesn’t reply, just glares at her for a moment before turning and _walking_ to the bathroom, glad they’re just a couple of small, single-toilet rooms with locks on the doors.

~

It’s not like Stiles _plans_ to call again. Except, well, he can’t stop thinking about collars. He knows Derek didn’t say anything about an _actual_ collar, just a collar of marks (and _that_ was fuel for a half a dozen fantasies all on its own), but fuck. The idea of a soft leather collar wrapped around his throat, against his pulse, was almost enough to make him completely lose track of where he was in the middle of his English midterm.

Thank God he picked a college close enough to Beacon Hills that Stiles can afford the gas to drive home every couple weekends to do laundry somewhere that _isn’t_ unbelievably creepy.

Being home also means having access to the stash of sex toys under his bed. He has never been more grateful for Dad’s overnight shifts in his _life._

Finally settled on his bed, he calls the number. The voice over the line is definitely _not_ Derek's. "Hey, uh, would it be possible to request someone specifically?"

"Oh, honey, I could totally satisfy you," he purrs with a faint lisp.

"I don't doubt that," Stiles replies. "But I'd like to talk to Derek, please."

There's a pause that somehow feels incredulous before the man says, "Sure, honey."

The line clicks a couple times then the voice that's invaded Stiles's... private time growls, "hello?"

"Ahh, hi, um. I don't know if you-"

"Stiles," Derek interrupts in a much warmer tone of voice.

"Yeah," Stiles affirms, surprised. "Hi."

"Hi, sorry about that. Long day," Derek explains.

"No problem. We all have them," Stiles answers.

"What can I do for you today?" Derek asks and Stiles almost thinks there's a trace of eagerness in his voice.

"Um, well. Last time, you talked about a collar of marks," Stiles begins hesitantly.

"Yes," Derek prompts.

"What about an actual collar?" Stiles blurts and that was definitely a moan from Derek.

"On you?"

Stiles just about swallows his tongue. "You'd consider wearing..." He trails off, almost afraid to finish the thought.

"I've considered a lot of things," Derek admits.

Stiles falls back on his bed with a groan. "Jesus H. Christ in a hockey stick, big guy, you can't just say shit like that."

Derek laughs, low and warm, in Stiles's ear. "Sure, I can. It's kinda my job."

"Ugh. Okay," Stiles opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. "Collar. Brown leather. On me."

"On you," Derek echoes softly. "I'd start with you on your back. We'd be kissing."

"Bet you'd be an awesome kisser with that mouth of yours," Stiles says, trailing his nails over his bare chest.

Derek hums noncommittally and continues, "You taste so good; traces of dinner and dessert, but still that undertone that's all you and I can't get enough of it. I just want to kiss you until your mouth is obscene, your lips are so red and wet and warm."

Stiles hisses as the ragged edge of one nail catches on his hard nipple, making his hips twitch against the mattress. He moans as the plug in his nudges against his prostate.

"Stiles?" Derek asks, concern in his voice.

"M'fine," Stiles assures him. "Keep going."

"All right," Derek says, wary. "I almost want to see your mouth wrapped around my cock, but I have other plans for you."

Stiles clears his suddenly-dry throat and asks, "What plans?"

"I want you on your knees, chest against the mattress, ass in the air."

"Fucking _Christ,"_ Stiles hisses.

"Can't resist spanking you a little, get your ass just a little pink and sensitive," Derek purrs breathlessly.

"Shit, tell me you have stubble," Stiles practically begs.

"Usually, yeah," Derek admits, sounding intrigued, "Why? You like the idea of your skin warm and sensitive from beard burn?"

Stiles is pretty sure the sound he makes doesn't have any vowels in it.

Derek laughs, low and filthy. "You are the naughtiest, filthiest virgin I have ever met."

"Thank you?"

"I like it. You challenge me," Derek observes.

"Then I challenge you to keep going."

"Since you like the stubble," Derek continues. "I'll rub it over the marks from my hands until you're writhing and almost biting your lip bloody to keep the neighbors from getting an aural show."

Stiles's cock gives a twitch against his belly. "Fuck. That's. Ahhh."

"Unless you _don't_ mind," Derek amends shrewdly. "If you don't, I don't."

"Apparently not," Stiles mumbles.

Derek laughs again. "Then I'll work my way to your hole, spreading your cheeks wide, while I taste you."

Stiles lets loose another unintelligible noise, spreads his legs wide and starts nudging the base of the plug, wondering what it would feel like to have someone's tongue there instead. "Feels so fucking good," he moans. "More."

"Wanna feel me licking you open? Feel me fucking you with my tongue?"

"Yes," Stiles moans.

"Want me to work my fingers inside, too?"

" _Christ."_

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

" _Yes,"_ Stiles agrees vehemently, pressing against the plug and rocking his hips.

"You'll love it when I push my tongue in between my fingers, you'll probably go not-so-quietly crazy," Derek growls in Stiles's ear.

"Fuck, Derek, want you to fuck me so bad," Stiles inadvertently confesses.

Either Derek does the decent thing, ignores the confession, and keeps going or he thinks Stiles is really into the fantasy. Either way, Derek says, "You ready for me?"

"Fuck yes," Stiles answers on a gasp. "Past ready."

"You've been so good for me, you deserve to be rewarded," Derek replies. "I guide my cock into you, moaning at how tight you are, despite my tongue and fingers."

"Yes," Stiles hisses, gritting his teeth against the pleasure threatening to swamp him. "Fuck me, Derek. Fuck your filthy slut of a virgin."

" _Christ,_ Stiles," Derek moans, sounding like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. "Once I'm in," he continues breathlessly. "I tug gently on your collar until you're up on your knees, your back against my chest, my hand around your throat, pressing my collar into your skin. Do it, Stiles, fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you want to be filled with my come."

Stiles whines, wanting to touch his cock, but not wanting to stop fucking himself with the plug. "Feels so good, sir," he gasps. "Love feeling you inside me, want it. Want to feel you fill me with come so bad."

"You're almost gagging for it, aren't you, slut?"

"Yes, sir," Stiles moans. "Please, sir." He lets out an involuntary noise when the plug hits him _just_ right. "Need your come."

"Not yet, you don't," Derek growls. "Soon, though, soon you'll be gasping for it."

"When?"

"When my hand is getting tighter and tighter around your throat, when you're not sure if you'll pass out or come first," Derek replies with a groan. "But you're hoping you come, because if you pass out first, I won't let you come when you wake up."

"SIR!" Stiles cries out as he comes, splattering his chest up to his chin. He thinks he hears an answering groan before everything goes dark.

*

There's a clatter over the line and Derek's face burns. He can almost feel Danny and Erica's very amused stares. As annoying as it is, he can't begrudge them their amusement. He'd be laughing, too, if they'd come in their pants while talking to a client.

"Stiles?" he calls hesitantly. No answer. He really hopes that Stiles just accidentally dropped the phone when he came and that he didn't throw the phone across the room in disgust. "Stiles?" he calls again.

A soft noise, almost like a groan, and then, "Jesus Christ. No worries on the fucking me until I pass out front," Stiles groans.

"...Seriously?" Derek asks incredulously, kind of proud of himself.

"Yeah," Stiles affirms, embarrassment in his voice.

"You okay?" Derek questions, concerned. "You didn't hurt yourself?"

"Only my pride," Stiles assures him self-deprecatingly. "I was lying down, already."

"I'm glad you're okay," Derek says quietly.

"Thanks."

"Talk to you soon?" Derek asks, trying to keep the hope out of his voice and, probably failing.

"More than likely," Stiles replies with a faint laugh.

~

Stiles knows this is getting out of hand. It’s like Dad always says: twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. Okay, so the second time was on purpose, but whatever. It’s starting to be a Thing. Except, he doesn’t want to stop; both orgasms had been completely mind-blowing, so explosively hot that he thought his head was going to explode.

So it really shouldn’t surprise Stiles that, without him really thinking about it, he has his phone in his hand, thumb poised to call that number. As the phone rings, he wonders if Derek would be okay with talking about Stiles topping, this time around.

“Hi,” Derek says.

“Hey, it’s Stiles.”

“Stiles, hi, how’s it going?” Derek asks, voice warm and pleased.

“It’s good. So glad for Thanksgiving break.”

“Yeah, it’s nice having that little break in there, even if you have to deal with family, at the same time,” Derek agrees.

“Are you in college, too?” Stiles asks, suddenly curious about all the little facets of Derek’s life that aren’t connected to the phone line.

“Not anymore, I did some gen. ed. at a community college, but I hated it, so I dropped out,” Derek answers.

Stiles idly wonders if Derek’s even supposed to be telling him this shit, but whatever, it’s interesting. “Tired of school after high school?”

“No, just…” Derek pauses. “Didn’t like it. Besides, I have more time to do the stuff I _like_ to do.”

“What do you like to do?”

“Draw, paint, work out, knock down a wall or two,” Derek replies.

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a long moment until he faintly hears Derek call, “Stiles?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Stiles assures him once the phone is back against his ear. “’Knock down a wall or two?’”

Derek laughs self-consciously. “Yeah, my uncle owns a demolition company, sometimes he lets me come in and knock down a few walls when I need to let off some steam.”

“Nice of him,” Stiles manages to stutter out, suddenly imagining Derek sweaty and panting, covered in dust and streaks of plaster.

Derek hums softly. “You’re imagining it, aren’t you? Me all dirty and sweaty.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits with a moan, trailing his hand down his body.

“Can’t lick me, though, wouldn’t want you to get sick.” A thoughtful pause, then, “What about after I’ve been working out? Just sweat, nothing to get in the way of you tracing the sweat over my skin; down my neck, along my collarbone, the small of my back.”

“So fucking unfair,” Stiles whines, reaching down to play with his balls.

A husky laugh purrs over the line. “I have a tattoo in between my shoulder blades, if that helps.”

Stiles is pretty sure the sound he just made can only be heard by dogs.

Derek laughs again. “God, I’d love feeling your tongue tracing it, drawing patterns on my skin as you work your way down my spine, leaving your marks on me, here and there.”

“Someone’s in a bottomy mood today,” Stiles observes breathlessly.

Derek hums in agreement. “Wanna feel my ass stretched wide around your cock, want to feel you draped over me, pressing me into the bed.”

“Wall,” Stiles interrupts, “Wanna fuck you up against the wall, wanna see your hands splayed against the plaster, legs spread to brace yourself, your head hanging, showing off the back of your neck.”

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek moans.

“Yeah, I’m gonna rim you until your knees are weak, until you have to lean even more against the wall so you don’t just fall because you’re so fucking hard for me,” Stiles murmurs.

It’s Derek’s turn to make an inarticulate noise, for once. Stiles smirks up at his water-stained ceiling.

“You’re so sensitive for me, you can feel the air cooling the sweat on your skin, making you shiver even harder,” Stiles continues, pulling lazily on his cock. “God, I bet you taste good.”

“Stiles,” Derek whines, breath gusting over the line.

“So eager for me, to feel my tongue on your skin, my fingers spreading you wide, until you’re wet and ready for me, until you’re panting against the wall.”

“Yes, please, god, fuck me,” Derek begs.

“Yeah, fuck, can’t wait, gotta feel you hot and tight around me,” Stiles gasps, hips pumping into his fist. “You try to push back against me, make me hurry up, but you feel so good, I’m almost ready to come.”

“Christ,” Derek curses breathlessly.

Stiles laughs. “How does it feel to be on that side of things? To hear _me_ talking so fucking filthy?”

“S’good,” Derek mumbles.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” Stiles taunts.

“Feels fucking good,” Derek replies, louder.

“Good boy.”

A whine echoes in Stiles’s ear.

“Like that?” Stiles teases. “Like hearing me praise you? Telling you what a good boy you are? Telling you how fucking good you feel?”

“Yes,” Derek hisses.

“Bet you’d be jerking off right in your chair, if you weren’t at work.”

“Yes, damn you.”

“Jesus, that shouldn’t be so hot, thinking about you not giving a shit if your coworkers see how worked up you are, how much I turn you on.”

“Pretty sure they already know,” Derek admits.

Stiles laughs, delighted. “Want me to leave my marks on you? Show them who owns you? Who makes you come so fucking hard, who makes your knees weak?”

“Stiles,” Derek groans, panting.

“…Did you just come in your pants?” Stiles asks after a moment.

“No!” Derek denies, just a shade too quickly.

“You totally did! Oh my god!” Stiles crows.

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles.

“That’s actually kinda hot,” Stiles replies. “Knowing I got someone who dirty talks for a living to come in his pants.”

“You haven’t come, yet, though,” Derek counters. “Gonna fill me up with your come? Mark me so deep that I’ll even smell like you?”

“Hnngh,” Stiles groans, back arching as he comes. “Fuck.”

Derek’s soft laughter is so filthy and pleased it sends a tingle down Stiles’s spine.

*

Derek settles back in his chair, fighting the urge to squirm while Stiles catches his breath.

“Jesus, one of these days I’m going to pull something, if we’re not careful,” Stiles says.

“You’re the one that keeps calling,” Derek points out, secretly hoping that Stiles _doesn’t_ stop calling.

“Got me there, big guy,” Stiles admits. He pauses for a moment. “Listen, I know this is probably against company policy, and you’re probably not even in California, let along up north, but um, coffee? Please?”

Derek’s heart thumps hard in his chest. “I, ah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry, definitely against policy,” he answers, unable to hide his regret.

Stiles sighs gustily. “Yeah, I figured. Worth a shot, right?”

“If it helps, I would if I could,” Derek says softly.

“Not really, but thanks for the thought.” Stiles hangs up without saying good-bye.

Derek lets loose his own sigh and takes off his headset so he can scrub his hands over his face. Maybe he should refuse Stiles’s calls for a while, make one of the other’s take him. A pang tightens his chest. Yeah, fat chance of that happening.

There’s a knock on the door of his booth and he looks up to find Erica and Danny standing there, watching him, a packet of wipes in Danny’s hand. He waves a hand and they open the door. Danny hands over the wipes without saying a word.

“You’re getting too hung up on this guy, Der,” Erica observes, one eyebrow arched.

Derek sighs, but stays silent.

“Listen, let me set you up with a friend of mine, he might take your mind off things,” she offers.

It’s the quiet desperation curling through his heart that makes him nod as he stands up and nudges his way between them to head for the bathroom. “Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

~

Distracting himself has never been a problem for Stiles; he’s very fond of the motto: “ignore a problem until it goes away.” Except that’s kind of hard when his dad is showing him the cell phone bill with a certain number highlighted and a judging look on his face.

“I’m 18! It’s not illegal!” Stiles protests. “Besides, I had a gift card!”

"Your gift card ran out after the first call," Dad informs him.

Stiles can feel his face incinerating. “I’ll pay you back?”

“You don’t have a job, Stiles,” Dad reminds him.

“…I’ll organize the file room?” Stiles offers.

Dad nods, seemingly satisfied. “8 A.M. sharp tomorrow morning.”

“Ugh, fine, yes, okay.”

“Also, you should know, our new intern is that kid from lacrosse,” Dad adds, pausing in thought. “What’s his name? Graham, no, Berg, no.”

Stiles groans. “Greenberg?”

“Yes! That’s it.”

Stiles collapses over the kitchen table, wondering if his life can possibly get any worse. His phone goes off in his pocket and he pulls it to see a new text from Erica. _Blind date, 3 pm tomorrow afternoon, Harvest Café. Tall, dark, handsome, green Henley, green eyes, black hair. Be there or I’ll kill you._ Fuck. His. Life.

 _Gonna give me a name?_ Stiles asks.

_Nope. Wear a red shirt. NO PLAID._

_RED SHIRTS GET KILLED_ , he sends back.

 _DO IT OR I’LL TELL YOUR DAD WHERE HIS WHISKEY WENT WHEN WE WERE NINE._ She replies

_I hate you._

_You love me, don’t deny it._

The thing of it is, he really can’t. So he goes upstairs to make sure his red shirt is clean.

*

Derek doesn’t get nervous about blind dates. They’re not ones he sets up himself and he can’t expect anyone besides himself to know what he’s looking for in a boyfriend. Except for Erica, she’s the only one who’s managed to set him up with guys that make it to another date. He buys his chai latte and finds a table near the window, just like Erica told him to.

He doesn’t know much about the guy he’s meeting. All Erica told him was that he was tall, slender, with honey-brown eyes, epic sex hair, and that he would be wearing a red shirt. Derek’d had to hold back a snort from wondering if the guy was asking to get killed.

A flash of red catches his eye and he looks up out the window to see a guy stepping up to the door, frowning down at the phone in his hand. Tall, check. Slender, check. Epic sex hair, check. Red shirt, check. Derek watches him as he walks into the café and up to the counter. The guy doesn’t even glance up at the menu, just orders, pays for it, and then steps to the side to wait for his order. Its not until he has his cup in hand that he even looks around. Derek half expects him to skip right over Derek, but his eyes stop and his mouth drops open a little. Yup, honey-colored eyes. Jesus. Yeah, Erica definitely had his type pegged.

“Hi,” the guy says and Derek’s heart stops. The guy’s brow furrows in concern. “You okay, dude?”

“S-stiles?” Derek gasps.

Stiles’s eyes widen. “Derek?”

Their phones ping at the same time and they pull them out and laugh at almost the same moment. _I expect champagne and chocolates as a thank you present. You’re welcome._

~

“So, you’re a werewolf,” Stiles clarifies.

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek answers, a little frustrated.

“Damn it, Derek!” Stiles bursts out, startling Derek. “There’s a fuckton of kinks we could have been tapping for _months_.”

Derek stares at Stiles, incredulous, then laughs, loud and long. “I love you,” he says when he finally calms down.

Stiles grins and kisses Derek, long and slow and filthy, with lots of tongue and teeth. “Love you, too. Feel free to use your wolflihood in any further dirty talk with me.”

Derek’s grin is, heh, wolfish.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> So, not a human AU. xD Based on [this post](http://alltruthwaitsinallthings.tumblr.com/post/54235704206/mountainashes-do-we-have-a-phone-sex-operator). Come find [me on Tumblr!](http://umbralillium.tumblr.com)


End file.
